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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26909263">Until The Fog Clears</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ocimi/pseuds/Ocimi'>Ocimi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>I Don't Even Know, I Tried, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Maybe horror?, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Wendigo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:55:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,884</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26909263</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ocimi/pseuds/Ocimi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One morning a light fog rolled in, slowly growing thicker and colder until it consumed everything it could. The gang needed a place to go that wasn't open to the elements, so of course they send Arthur Morgan to scout out a homestead.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is my first time writing anything like this, I wrote it at 11pm on my phone and I have to be up at 6, so im so sorry about any typos.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The fog rolled in one morning.</p><p>Thick and damp causing a claustrophobic feeling to descend on New Hanover. The air was still clinging to the chill of a long lasting winter, the fog not allowing the sun to thaw the frost that clung stubbornly to the ground and plants. The camp was eerily quiet and people bundled together and shivered. No matter how much firewood they collected, stew they warmed, it was never enough. The air seemed to grow impossibly colder, causing the once boisterous camp to cease all productivity in favor of bundling together.</p><p>Dutch and Hosea stood, old coats wrapped snugly around their frames. A map was laid out on the table with lots of circles and slashes drawn haphazardly all over the state they resided.</p><p>Finally, a gloved hand pointed at a homestead a half days ride away from Horseshoe Overlook. Dutch stared at the hand and nodded, turning his head to eye Arthur. The man puffed hot air onto his gloved hands in an attempt to warm them, the sharp bark of his name caused the young man to shuffle over and peer down at the open map.</p><p>"Clawson's rest?" He hummed, "suppose I could check it out. Should I take someone with me?" </p><p>"I reckon you won't have a lot of company on the road, and we need all the hands we can." Hosea spoke softly, as though his jaw hurt from the teeth chattering cold.</p><p>Arthur merely nodded before pulling his coat tighter and walking to his tent. He grabbed some spare ammo from the stockpile and trudged his way to his horse. The fog seemed to grow thicker.</p><p>His horse stamped his feet uneasily, ears pinned back. Arthur greeted Oakley with a light pat and a carrot before swinging himself up onto the saddle. Dutch walked forward and grabbed his hand.</p><p>"Son, be safe." It was weird, Arthur had left many times before but this time the older man's stomach clenched and soured at the thought of him being alone in the foggy country. Still, it was necessary. The women, and the men for that matter, needed a warm place to stay, out of the elements. The younger man nodded, clicked his tongue and guided his horse onto the trail leading away from his family.</p><p>The fog consumed him quickly. </p><p>-</p><p>The path was hardly visible, in fact he could barely see the nose of the horse he was currently riding. The dampness of the fog sunk into his bones and caused a violent shiver to run down his spine. He chattered a sigh and snuggled deeper into his jacket. </p><p>A whisper caressed his ear causing his head to snap to the side, hand flying for his gun. Nothing appeared before him and he warily relaxed, hand still resting on the weapon. Underneath him Oakley started and darted to the side, ears laying flat. Arthur gently tried to calm the massive beast under him as his own skin crawled. He eyed the area warily, nerves now sparking with anxiety. Nothing seemed to happen. They carried on, both tense. The river came into veiw, barely. He wouldn't have noticed if not for the sound the running water made. </p><p>He was close.</p><p>When he had passed through Valentine the whole place seemed abandoned, no villagers wandering about, no animals to be seen. It had put him on edge, the only thing slightly calming the feeling was the chimney stack that smoked, a barely visible grey against the white fog.</p><p>The river was chilly, his horse protested at having to walk through it, though with gentle reassurance he managed to get him in and out. The ride up the mountain made impossibly harder by the horrible visibility. But still, he managed and eventually he found himself pushing into a locked door. No sound inside was a good sign, and his pushed and pushed before finally relenting and kicking the door in. A horrible smell assaulted his nose almost immediately.</p><p>A body, half gone and rotting sat in the center of the room. A dark stain had formed and spread from the remaining bits of corpse. Arthur grimaced but held his breath and stepped inside. A definite shiver ran down his spine and he heard his horse scream. He turned and ran back outside, but Oakley gone. In the mud there were... tracks but he could not recognize the animal that made them. He swallowed hard but remembered the job he had to do and the people that relied on him and headed back inside. He first investigated the night stand near the large bed. Inside he found a letter addressed to two boys. </p><p>Two?</p><p>There was only one body.</p><p>He shrugged and read, a sad tale of a lonesome mother who was robbed. She left the children with food and water for four days but.. she never returned. Still, as sad as it was this house was perfect for the gang. Warm, dry and out of the elements. He tucked the letter into his satchel, looked again at the body (decided someone else can deal with the remains after all the running around he did) and turned to the door.</p><p>His blood ran cold.</p><p>A grotesque shape stood outside, freakishly tall, skeletal and pale. The remnants of hair, stringy and thin hung in the face of this... thing. Arthur froze. His breath caught in his throat as the thing turned towards him. Skeletal hands with razor sharp nails dig into the mud and the creature moved a step forward. It was the oddest thing to watch. It walked like a dog, if the dogs legs were 7 feet long and lanky and... well Arthur guessed it wasn't like a dog after all. The milky white eyes grazed over him, seemingly not seeing him before the beast screeched and leapt up onto the roof. The screech nearly caused Arthur to cry out as it peirced his ear drums. His heart raced and he focused hard on not hyperventilating. </p><p>What the hell was that thing?!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was evening now, and Arthur had stood in the same spot for what seemed like hours, mouth slightly open as he heard the clacking of long claws on the roof above him. When he had set out that frosty morning he wasn't expecting to run into something supernatural.</p>
<p>Though it wasn't unusual, as a young boy he had sworn up and down he had seen a green orb in the sky that had beamed a ray of green light on the ground before seeming to twirl and zip quickly into the sky. Of course, the older men had blamed each other for telling to many ghost stories to the impressionable kid. Another time when he was in his early twenties he swore he saw a man rise from the dead, eyes flashing eerily green before Arthur had ran away in terror.</p>
<p>Still, being afraid of something you know is very different then something you don't know. This thing on the roof, clacking and screeching, was something he had never seen, never read about, never even heard a whisper of. Quietly and slowly he made his way to the door and gently pulled it closed, heart beating hard and fast. He froze when he heard a low growl as the thing moved slightly towards the door. He slammed the lock down and stumbled back hands flying to his gun, tense and waiting.</p>
<p>Nothing.</p>
<p>Nothing happened, the beast flinched and moved but nothing broke down the door or screamed. He exhaled the breath he didn't know he was holding before stumbling to his feet. The air seemed to warm slightly now that the door was closed, though it caused the stench of the rotten corpse to surround Arthur in an disgusting embrace. He slowly walked to the window, ready to peel the curtain back to peek, see how much time had passed.</p>
<p>He pulled the curtain back and looked out.</p>
<p>It was probably around the end of the day. He lectured himself internally realizing he had left his pocket watch in his saddle bag on Oakley. He turned and took a slow and careful walk around the room, picking up and putting down various object's after inspecting them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As he walked he found a family portrait with the face on the eldest boy scratched out. The father was grinning, holding a large fish with the younger boy perched on his shoulders, the mother had a hand over her pregnant belly and a hand over the scratched out face boy. He wondered who defaced it before shrugging and moving on. He walked over to the decaying body and knelt beside it. </p>
<p>It was clear something had gotten to it, animal or otherwise. There were chunks of flesh missing, rib bones were exposed and ripped apart, seemingly gnawed on. Idly he wondered if the thing outside did this, although it was far too big to fit through the door. </p>
<p>He stood back up, ignoring the crack of his knees as he went. He turned and nearly screamed as out the window whose curtain he had opened a face was pressed against the glass, milky eyes peered in searching for any sign of movement. Arthur froze.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It pushed harder against the glass, the fragile surface cracking but luckily not breaking. Arthur wanted to shout and shoot but found himself frozen to the spot watching as the eyes flickered aimlessly around the room before finally the face peeled back and leapt up and away. Arthur needed to go. Get back to camp and pretend that nothing ever happened. Sleep it off.</p>
<p>He crept slowly, panic radiating throughout his body. He made it to the door, gently pushed it open a small bit and looked out.</p>
<p>Not even a bird chirped.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Dutch paced around the camp, shivering as the temperature seemed to dip down even further. Arthur had left two mornings ago, and no one had heard from him since, seen him since. The fog curled closer in on the camp blotting out the dull light the fire tried desperately to provide. The gang had taken to huddling together sharing body heat in a desperate attempt to warm. Dutch wished he could join them.</p>
<p>"Its been three days..." he began, "We haven't heard from Arthur, we can't survive much longer in this cold." As if to prove his point he shivered uncontrollably, walking closer to the group.</p>
<p>"What now, boss?" Micah had asked, standing off to the side with a thick horse blanket draped over his shoulders.</p>
<p>"I don't... I don't know." He admitted, quietly. Hosea met his eyes, a warm reminder that they were in this together. Charles then stood, adjusting his gun belt before shuffling closer to the leader.</p>
<p>"I'll go. I'm a decent tracker, I can probably find some shelter and bring everyone. Then, we can recoup and look for Arthur." Charles was a voice of reason that the leaders fragile sense of security clung to. He nodded and pushed his blanket towards the man.</p>
<p>"Take this, and good luck."</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Charles had followed Arthur's trail until the river. There it tapered off and blended into the mud. Charles clicked his tongue and guided Taima through the frigid water listening as he went. Taima seemed to stop suddenly, ears flickering every which way, before jumping and rearing up. Charles held on, frozen in fear as he spotted it.</p>
<p>The gangly creature perched, vicisiously tearing and eating a deceased buck. Long spider like limbs grew from the emaciated torso, extremely long fangs grew haphazardly from a mouth with no lips to be seen. Charles swallowed thickly before finally spurring his horse into a gallop. The tell tale screech behind him froze his blood and Taima pushed faster, harder. The creature nearly caught up, swiped at the pair before Charles nimbly plucked an arrow from his quiver, a wet rag hung on the end soaked with alchohol. He cursed as he failed to light a match before finally it lit and he pressed it into the fabric. It lit, finally. He turned in the saddle, holding on desperately with his thighs before firing blindly at the creature. It shrieked and flailed and finally Charles lost sight of it as Taima ran.</p>
<p>They rushed back to camp, where Charles began throwing his belogining into a wagon, urging the others to do the same. </p>
<p>"Charles!" Dutch grabbed his arm, confusion all over his face. "What is the urgency? What happened out there?"</p>
<p>Charles was pale and sweat covered. His face was haunted and his eyes seem unfocused. He breathed, swallowing thickly. He seemed reluctant to voice what had caused such a reaction, stared angrily at the ground before finally, he spoke. His voice was haunted and caused the hair to stand up on the back of Dutch's neck.</p>
<p>"Wendigo."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I was listening to a podcast at work and they touched on multiple legends regarding the Wendigo. This one stuck out to me the most and while it may not be 100% accurate the general idea is there.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wendigos, as they learned, were an ancient legend born from the tribes long since gone.</p><p>Though Charles was not familiar with the origin story he told them what he could, a story passed down from his elder to his mom to him and now to the gang all piled into one crowded wagon.</p><p>"The tribe was stationed in Canada, at the time. They had been living prosperous and mostly unbothered by the white man who had come, even trading fur and pelts with the invaders. The story centered around a woman named Burnt Stick whose father had been the provider for his family before disappearing one winter afternoon never to be seen again. Burnt Stick had taken over his duties of hunting and trading, providing for her aging mother.</p><p>It was one afternoon, the sun began to dip low early as the Canadian winter was in full swing, tons of snow had blanketed the ground causing prey to be scarce. It was that reasons she found herself venturing farther then ever from home. She had no luck, she was about to give up and go home, enjoy whatever meager dried meat they had left when she saw it.</p><p>The Wendigo.</p><p>It watched her, not moving as she froze. She took a step back, it took a step forward. Her breath had quickened as the Wendigo copied her every move, watching with milk colored eyes. They moved like that for a fair time as they inched closer to her home. She watched as the beast tensed, ready to lunge. She ran, ran and ran, wrenching the door to the meager cabin open and pulling it closed behind her. Her mother stared at her with wide eyes as she gasped for breath. The thud of the beast sounded from the room, her mother's eyes flew to the roof. The showed minimal fear while Burnt Stick's was wet with tears, fear pulsing in her veins.</p><p>Her mother said nothing, grabbed three bowls and placed all three on the table, her daughter watching all the while. She pulled the boiling soup off the fire and filled the three bowls before hanging the pot back up and adding more chopped up animal fat. She breathed, closed her eyes and murmured before walking to the door and opening it. The wendigo stood at the door.</p><p>"Hello, elder. Come in and eat." Her mother's soft voice woke her from her shocked stupor. She watched horrified wondering what was going to happen now. The gangly beast slowly inched its way in and took an awkward seat at the table. The mother gestured for Burnt stick to sit and eat as she brought a spoon to her lips.</p><p>Numbly she did. She ate her share watching the long seprent like tongue dart out and drain the soup, nearly breaking the bowl in two as it did. The mother carefully stood, and refilled the now empty bowl the creature perched in front of. As it ate the fatty soup, Burnt Stick watched in muted horror and wonder as pieces of flesh peeled and fell from the skeletal body, dropping onto the floor and turning into water. The beast continued eating.</p><p>The more it ate, the less skin remained, bones now joining the skin on the floor. The chest cavity opened and inside the chest was a heart, frozen mid beat. The ice slowly melted from the heart until finally, it too was gone. The wendigo was gone."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Apologies for the delay. I've mentally been dealing with a car accident, physically I am okay though!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dawn was hours away, but how many days had he laid there barely breathing thoughts anxious and mixed, churning and tumbling into a mess he couldn't decipher. He struggled to make sense of the events that had happened to him over the last few days and failed.</p>
<p>No, there was no sense in what he had gone through.</p>
<p>It wasn't natural, nor was it right. The creatures he saw belonged in legends and bed times stories but not in reality, definetly not his reality. The hands were dealt and there was nothing he could do now but survive, which he couldn't do if he didn't drag himself out of the river had found himself in.</p>
<p>He laid prone barely on the bank, shivering and soaked but desperately trying to stay still as the chill numbed him from fingers to toes. He blinked slowly and sluggishly moved one hand and one leg, until eventually he was fully out of the water. How had he gotten there? He shivered, this time not from the cold. </p>
<p>He had sprinted from the cabin door, arm and legs pumping as he fled, behind him a shriek peirced his ears. The creature had leapt off the room and had given chase running way faster then should be possible for such a frail frame. It had chased him until he had ended up cornered, then as if to taunt him it just stared and watched. Unblinking. Arthur felt a surge of anger and yelled running at the beast only to scream in agony as the beast swung, clawed nails peirced his sides and threw him to the side. He landed on his back and frantically scrambled back as the beast paced after him. His hand met nothing and his back slammed against the earth, a warning that a cliff was behind him. He sucked in breaths and stared in terror as the beast got closer and closer.</p>
<p>Its nails dug into his leg and he screamed. It seemed startled and jerked its hand out and off. In a split second decision he had decided rather then be devoured by the beast he would rather die by his own hand and hurriedly scrambled back and off the cliff.</p>
<p>Now, though, he was freezing and bloody laying on the bank of a river after who knows how long with the beast who knows where. It was... not a good situation. He knew what to do, albeit his brain was sluggish and foggy he knew he had to take stock of his injuries and deal with the worst ones first. He wiggled his toes and fingers and carefully and slowly ran his hands down his body. Flinching only when he ran down the four long gashes along his side that dug deep, the blood had since stopped pouring out of him, most likely from the cold. He felt around for his knife and shakily managed to cut off a chunk of his shirt to use as a makeshift bandaid for his side. He was glad he wore his long John's. He felt carefully further down and felt the round holes in his leg from the clawed monsters hand. Another bandaid then. His fingers shook and he wondered morbidly what would do him in, infection or the cold?</p>
<p>The worst wounds now dealt with he turned his attention to figuring and escape route out. Hesitantly he whistled.</p>
<p>No sound came out and he internally cursed at himself before trying again. A weak whistle. No, not loud enough. He wasn't sure he could get much louder, not with how his teeth chattered. Another plan then, he decided. He rolled onto his stomach, ignoring the flair of pain as his bandaged wound tugged. He looked left and right and saw nothing, his vague hope diminished. He needed his horse, if she was alive. It was his only option. </p>
<p>As if God was listening he heard a crack in the woods and froze. He barely breathed until he felt the warm air caress his face, he turned almost automatically and raised a hand to pet the nose of his horse. She had found him. He wanted to weep but instead turned his focus onto getting onto her sturdy and warm back.</p>
<p>She nudged him impatiently and huffed. He chuckled under his breath and grabbed onto her nose band, praising her as she helped him onto his feet. His leg throbbed and he felt something wet run down it, knowing blood was likely flowing he hurriedly, albeit shakily, sidled along her before attempting to lift himself into the saddle.</p>
<p>He failed and landed on his behind. He cursed and his horse seemed to almost laugh at him before it kneeled next to him. He crawled into the saddle and held on for dear life as she raised. She huffed and moved slowly forward, her ears twitching in every direction.</p>
<p>"It... it... it's alright, guh, guh, girl..." he chattered. He leaned forward and pressed his face into her warm soft neck anticipating a long journey to hopefully safety.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By the time Arthur had rode into camp he was barely lucid. His head rolled around and stared blankly at the abandoned camp with the beginnings of a sharp prickly fear. There was no sound of laughter from Jack, no sounds of wood being split from Charles..<br/>There was nothing. Arthur slid out of the saddle, landing harshly on the ground. He had no fight left as the cold enveloped his weakened body. He wasn't much of a crier but damn did he want to cry now, hopelessness electrified his body and he curled in on himself, ready to give up. </p><p>-- </p><p>Dutch paced infront of the fire place, rubbing his numb fingers together, thoughts churning angrily through his mind. He was beginning to feel the start of panic as the minutes ticked by, Arthur was nowhere to be seen, Charles was scared out of his mind, the rest of the gang was frozen half to death. He felt overwhelmed with the responsibility that laid thick on his shoulders with every shiver. They had found an abandoned house a few miles away from where they called before and while it wasn't glamorous there was enough room for everyone to huddle together for warmth. The fire roared and Dutch suddenly stopped pacing causing Hosea to look up and meet his eyes. </p><p>"I'm going back. Arthur could have made it back and who knows what state he could be in."  Hosea sighed and pinched his nose angrily. </p><p>"Dutch, I'm worried too but we need to stay together, especially if what Charles saw... was real. We can't go gallavanting about. We need a plan." </p><p>"Cowpoke is probably dead in a ditch somewhere, or hes warm somewhere not thinking about us." All eyes snapped to Micah. </p><p>"He wouldn't do that." John spat, gently rubbing Abigail's shoulders. Hosea nodded and stood, bones cracking as he did, walking towards Dutch whose face was stormy. </p><p>"I know, Micah. Instead of using your mouth for useless words you can use your body to go help Charles and Dutch look for Arthur. Charles!" Hosea called, grabbing the hot cup Susan offered him. Charles looked up and nodded, finishing the knot he was tying. Michah rolled his eyes. </p><p>"Whatever you say boss."<br/>-- </p><p>The ride out was mostly silent aside from the constant comparing from a reluctant Michah. He complained well into the ride before Dutch snapped at him to shut up or he'd leave shoot him. He didn't mean it of course but the threat did the trick and blessed silence fell. </p><p>Charles raised hand and the trio stopped. Dutch peered down at what Charles was staring at so intensely and saw a splatter of blood and a torn piece of fabric causing a flutter of both anxiety and hope. </p><p>Waving then quietly they carried on, towards where camp used to be. The Count suddenly flattened his ears and raised his front legs in a low buck, Blaylock mirroring the white beauty. Dutch gently sushed the spooked horse and looked towards the native man in front of him. </p><p>"Its nearby. We should go by foot for now, it sense movement." </p><p>Micah rolled his eyes and made a big show of getting down off his horse with a groan of annoyance. Dutch carefully slid down, patting his loyal beast before following after the tracker. The cold seemed to compress onto them and the trio longed for the house they had come from with the warmth from the gang and fireplace. But, it would never be complete until Arthur was found and able to join them. </p><p>The road to the abandoned camp looked horrible eerie in the frost and fog. The trail of blood grew more and more till it was more small puddles then drips. Feae overtook the hope. If they found Arthur there, would he even be alive? </p><p>Dutch was stopped by Charles suddenly touching his chest with a finger to his lip. Dutch furrowed his brow, a tinge of annoyance. Still he obeyed the silent command and looked where the now pale man was pointing. </p><p>"Oh God..." he whispered under his breath, his hand clasping over his mouth. </p><p>A grotesque form cocked its head and walked as if on stilts across the road infront of them, a growl came from it throat as it passed. A click from behind, and Dutch almost moved to look but heeded the intense look from Charles. </p><p>"What the hell is that!" Micah shouted, pulling his revolver from his holder and firing a round into the creature. The creature fell, and slowly raised, meeting eyes with the scared Micah before screeching and lunging. It's fingers peirced into the soft tissue of his stomach and but his neck so hard that his scream was cut off into a gargle. Dutch moved for his pistol before a hand grabbed his, </p><p>"Dont... move...it can't see us if we are still." Michas desperate eyes fell on Dutch before they faded and his body stilled. He was dead. </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>When the creature pulled the dead body up to its eyes, it seemed pleased. Horror had overcome the duo as they watched their former partner be eaten infront of them. </p><p>The wendigo roared, victory prize in hand before dragging the corpse behind it as it walked towards to forest. The fog seemed to close in on it as it vanished from sight. Fear thrummed in the leader veins as Charles slowly began to move again. </p><p>"I think its safe to move now, it should be far enough away to not see or hear us. Let's go, I don't want to be out here any longer." Who was he to argue, he would rather be back in the shack, safe. Still his need to find his son and best friend outweighed his terror. The bond between Arthur and Dutch surely was a sight to see. The trees cleared and into a clearing they slowly walked, the fog seemed to lighten and they saw him. A body lay next to a tree blood slowly seeping from an array of wounds. His horse standing above him still, stomping when it saw the two men. </p><p>All thoughts of wendigos left Dutch's brain as he surged forward towards the prone body. Tears threatened to pull from his eyes as he saw the pale man and he honestly thought he was about to touch a corpse. Instead a wheezey gasp escaped the barely alive body and the relief did spill a tear. His son was not a body just yet. </p><p>"Oh God, Arthur. Thank God... shit.." Charles appeared above him as he cradled the broken body close to his bulky jackets. </p><p>"It looks like the wendio got him, he needs treatment... we should hurry back." Charles looked around keeping an eye on the seeable area for any signs if the creature. Dutch nodded in agreement, pulling Arthur up as he stood. Charles grabbed the unconscious man's other arm and helped support his weight. They moved slowly back towards the horses, hoping they stayed where they left them. </p><p>Poor Blaylock would have to be transfered to another members ownership now that Micah was gone. He was a beautiful horse with a decent temperament. Dutch allowed his mind to wander as they walked agonizgly slow back towards safety. </p><p>Yes, Blaylock could enter the temporary ownership of the ex-O'driscol, Kieran, until it was adjusted. Then he supposed he could gift it to one of the ladies to use for small runs into town. Speaking of town, he'd need to send Pearson for supplies as soon as the fog lifted as they were running low on stock. His thoughts kept up the random plans until the horses came into view. Charles held the body as Dutch mounted the Count and helped situate him comfortable enough for the frigid ride back. The fog pressed closer and the hair on the back of Charles neck stood on end. Behind him he heard the click of nails and knew. It was there.</p>
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